


Sex, Drinks and Rock n'Roll

by Dash (Cydney)



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 1987)
Genre: Club Sex, Drinking, F/M, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5409122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cydney/pseuds/Dash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April O'Neil is due for an evening off from sneaking into greasy sewers and fighting bad guys. She'd rather go to a club, dance to some Michael Jackson, have some drinks and get laid, instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex, Drinks and Rock n'Roll

“This is April O’Neil for Channel Six News.”

“And that’s a wrap.”

 

April lowered her microphone and relaxed, feeling the muscles in her face twinge from smiling so much. “Goddamn it’s hot,” she moaned, tugging the zipper of her bright yellow jumpsuit down an inch and fanning her neck and cleavage. She thought she almost heard a voice mutter ‘damn right’ as the camera was pulled off the tripod but she ignored it. The crew of Channel Six knew better than to get fresh with O’Neil. Besides – for what a looker she was, her reputation was somewhere between a delinquent teenager and a nun.

 

Nobody in New York got into as much trouble as she did, but then no one else was so eager to go home of an evening. As far as everyone at work was concerned, when she was off duty, she was probably wrapped up in some fuzzy pink gown reading trashy novels. It seemed as if reporting on life in general was enough for to instead of actually  _living_  it.

 

“Give you a ride, O’Neil?” the cameraman asked. The last of the equipment was stored away and he was eager to get back to the station before the last of the donuts were eaten. But April shook her head.

 

“My place isn’t too far from here,” she said, jerking her head northwards. “I’ll have a quick jog and an-“

“An early night,” he finished. “Right. Catch you tomorrow, then. Jus’ y’know. Be  _careful_  walking home? You’re kind’ve easy to recognise.”

“Because I’m New York’s top reporter, right?” April tossed wavy, chestnut hair over her shoulder, standing back as the news van groaned to life.

“Because you stand out in a crowd with those clothes, O’Neil,” he yelled out the window. The van swerved out of the alley, the cameraman putting a cigarette between his lips and shaking his head. Top reporter or no, she was nuts to wear that jumpsuit on an evening as hot as this one. 

* * *

“Welcome to ladies night. What’ll it be, hon.” 

“Give me a Gibson,” April grinned, pulling some notes out of the pocket of her leather jacket. She leaned against the bar and watched her cocktail being made, letting the rhythm of  _Madonna_  guide how she wiggled her jean-clad hips. The moment her glass was pushed towards her she swallowed the drink down, satisfied at the look of surprise on the bartenders face.

 

“Another?” he asked, and she smacked her lips and shook her head.

“Oh, I’ll be back,” she promised. “Gonna dance a bit, first, though.”

 

April O’Neil  _loved_  to dance. She wasn’t too shy to admit that she had a firm, stacked body hiding beneath her jumpsuit. She spent her days being stared at through camera or a tv screen – she was overdue for an evening where people admired her for her moves instead. Forget about sneaking down a greasy manhole cover to hear about Pac-Man and  _The Empire Strikes Back_  – just cold drinks and hard rock. 

 

And maybe a dancing partner or two if the room was generous.

 

If nothing else, the room was  _hot_. Industrial air conditioning was pumped up high for these summer evenings, but between the throng of people, the heavy bass and the few smokers around the club, the atmosphere was still piping hot. She unzipped her jacket, pretending not to notice the coy sideways-glances as her breasts strained against her white cotton tee. More than a few girls have her cold looks (or bitter ones to their boyfriends) but she kept herself focused on the music, swinging and swaying to the beat and picking through her options.

 

A few caught her eye – a redheaded lad reclining in a booth, a greaser who was smoking near one of the exits. She almost introduced herself to a blonde, until she saw he could’ve passed for a human Raphael and let him go. April wasn’t sure she wanted to cross  _that_  type of fantasy, and with her luck he’d probably be just as moody as the mutant turtle, anyway.

 

“Buy you a drink?”

 

She turned, finding someone dancing close enough to be heard over the pounding music. Tall and somewhat dashing in a high-collared shirt. He wasn’t her first choice in the crowd – his nose was maybe a little too prominent, brow too high. But she could admit that he had a sense of style, and his moves were pretty smooth, too.

 

“I could do with a refill,” she teased, liking how his smile looked under the glowing lights. “But only if I get your name.”

“Quinn,” he said over the noise, and she thought he looked like  _anything_  but a Quinn. But she played along.

“Alice,” she lied, smacking his open palm in a ‘high five.’ “And you can buy me a pina colada.”

“Nice,” he murmured. “Come here often?”

“I need to get away now and again. You?”

“Going home tomorrow.” April could’ve rolled her eyes – it was a typical story, really. What she called a ‘slow news day.’ Girl and boy meet in a club, and one’s only in town for the evening. Not that she was insulted by the tale. She just found them all too boring and cliché and lacking imagination.

 

But she’d let him buy her a drink or two more and see if he became more interesting as they went.

* * *

 April O’Neil swallowed another mouthful of punch, smirking and pushing the empty glass back across the bar.

 

“Try and keep up, Quinn,” she hummed, still not buying the name. But he proved to be acceptable company – he kept his eyes on hers and had a few choice stories about Chicago. She didn’t try to match him. Either she’d be blowing her cover by revealing how she caught  _every_  major news story, or she’d be locked up for associating with ‘ninja mutant turtles in the sewer.’

 

“Too much more and I won’t be able to dance,” he laughed, and April pushed his half-drained glass away.

 

“We can’t have that,” she insisted, pulling his arm away from the bar as another hit came one. All pulsing and heavy drum lines which she  _lived for_ , biting her lip and shaking her wavy hair in time with the beats as her partner danced along with her. She was in a good place – head pleasantly foggy from alcohol. She needed an evening away from deadlines and sewer pipes and rogue ninjas. All she needed now was to get laid and her evening off would be a hit.

 

‘ _Fuck it_ ,’ she thought, grinning as his hands fell on her hips as the song ended.

 

“Feeling okay, Alice?” Michael Jackson’s  _Smooth Criminal_  came on through the club speakers and April grabbed him arm.

“Come with me,” she breathed into his ear, fingers trailing down his shirt before she pulled him away from the dance floor. Past grooving patrons and into one of the darkened corners of the club. She all but  _shoved_  him into a utility room, locking the door and yanking his mouth down to hers. She tasted the perfect spice of alcohol and excitement, sweat and nerves. 

 

Nothing beat spontaneous club sex with a stranger, she thought, fingers making short work of his jeans while he palmed her tit through her tee. Michael Jackson pounded through the walls, electro funk beats sending shivers through her as her puffy nipples were played with. She got Quinn unzipped and free, dropping to her knees a moment later.

 

_You’ve been hit by,_  
You’ve been struck by,  
A smooth criminal

April grabbed his shaft and engulfed him, bobbing her head up and down and sucking on the tip. His hands flew to her chestnut hair and pulled, messing up her wavy style while she hummed and rolled her tongue along his shaft. She didn’t care about pace or foreplay. She was already slippery wet inside her panties, and it was only a matter of time before some staff member needed to fetch more napkins or whatever from in here. So she  _sucked_ , jerking him in her fist and feeling his legs buckle.

 

“Christ, Alice.” She closed her eyes. It would’ve been easy to roll them again, wondering if she should ask if his name was nearly as interesting as ‘Quinn.’ But guys could get prudish sometimes, she thought, and she was having fun. So she just squeezed his dick and pulled her mouth away with a wet  _pop!_  


“Having fun?” April hummed, curling her hand over his wet prick and rubbing. She knew just where all the tender nerves would be singing her praises if they could, satisfied with the way his legs buckled. 

 

“I’d rather get inside those jeans,” he panted, and she was impressed that he could even speak that clearly with how she had him groan.

“Been waiting long?” She shrugged off her leather jacket, lifting her shirt up and off, feeling her heavy breasts fall back against her chest as they were freed. Within seconds he was upon her, pressing a wet mouth against her right slope and lathing her nipple with his tongue. 

 

“A while,” he confessed, and she pulled at his hair and hummed. A rule of thumb – all men were just obsessed with tits, and April knew she was blessed with both size and firmness. But it was a pleasant surprise that he was only licking her skin and palming her, stroking back and forth in circles. 

 

The last one just tried to suck as much of her as he could at once, and she wound up punching him for being an idiot.

 

“Well, someone knows how to treat a lady.” Her arms crossed over his back, worrying at her lip as she felt him lift her breasts up and lick between them. 

“Some tits are too nice not to,” Quinn mumbled, drawing a wet nipple into his mouth and rubbing it with his lips. April sighed, toeing one of her boots off and fumbling with the button of her jeans.

 

“Congratulations,” she mumbled. A swift push on his chest made him stop and she hooked her thumbs beneath her jeans and panties, pushing them down her legs together. In the dim light she knew he was missing out on a show, but she didn’t think he’d complain. Not when she lifted her leg out of her pants and leaned against a shelf, guiding his hand down to the tuft of curls above her slippery cunt. “This is the quickest anyone’s made me this wet.”

 

April O’Neil shivered as her clit was immediately fondled. Wet fingers traced circles around her pearl before brushing it, before he moved lower and pushed a finger inside her folds. He entered her swiftly, wet skin opening up, giving little resistance. “Not sure I’ve felt anyone  _this_  wet,” he muttered and her muscles trembled.

 

“You gonna stand there and feel me or are you gonna fuck me already.” She was tired of waiting –  _Smooth Criminal_  was winding down and the odds of being caught were getting better every minute.

“I don’t have a condom,” he admitted, but she felt him press against her entrance, hard and blunt and hot.

“Hey – they’re lame. You can’t believe  _everything_  you hear on the news.” She grabbed hold of his hips, lifting her stocking-sheered leg and slipping it around his own. She was rewarded a second later with a thrust that made her moan, filling her pussy with a twitching, pulsing prick for the first time in weeks.

 

“That’s the stuff,” she moaned, rocking her hips until she felt him butt against her, relishing the sensation of being full again. She needed to take more breaks from green heroes – she missed having fun with a cock now and again and being able to send it away when she was done. Now that she had one, she was going to enjoy her ride. 

 

“Last night in New York,” she reminded him, yanking her rolled up shirt off her head. “Gonna make the most of it before you head back to the windy city?” Quinn’s hips pulled back and drove forward, gliding his length out and back inside her with enough force to make her tense and curl her toes. April’s arms came back up around his shoulders, keeping her strength somewhere between the shelf she leaned on and the foot she balanced on. He was fucking her now, hips moving back and forth. She felt the folds of her pussy stretching around his girth. Felt his tip brushing across clusters of nerves inside, hitting her deep and sending shivers through her body.

 

“Fuck, you’re so hot and tight, Alice.” She smirked to herself, content to let him think she was the Queen of Denmark so long as he kept moving. Her legs parted further and she hissed as she brushed that sweet spot just inside her pussy, feeling it light up like a Christmas tree in 30 Rock. She was a New York girl, and getting fucked good in a rock club on a Saturday night was giving her an almighty high. 

 

April O’Neil palmed and squeezed and pulled at her tits. She drove her heel into his calf and rocked against him, guiding him, coaxing him, whispering sweet nothings to encourage him. Harder, deeper, faster, fucking  _yes_ , baby. She said it all, feeling that familiar coil tightening inside. Muscles aching from tension, blood shooting along her body.

 

Quinn gave her cunt an almighty thrust, burying himself inside her and leaving her shaking against him. April crossed her arms and clung to his shoulders, her muscles squeezing his cock as she came with a wet spasm. If he was a regular friend of hers she might’ve bit their ear or shoulder, or came with a shudder of their name. But after the break she had, it was good to just relax and ride her orgasm.

 

She wasn’t surprised with her tensing and shaking brought him over the edge too, and she felt him slide out of in a hurry. Her muscles relaxed, her pussy tingling from the sudden withdrawal. Then she felt something hot splash her tight tummy. She blinked her eyes, bleary from being squeezed shut, looking down to catch him jerking his slippery dick and shooting his cum over her sweat-shone skin. She appreciated not having him fill her with spunk, really. Though now she was left using her tee-shirt to wipe herself clean, licking her dry lips and feeling her head begin to ache from dehydration and the music.

 

“I love this club,” she moaned, grabbing her bunched up shirt from the ground and wiping her tummy. “It lets me know when I’m ready to call it a night.” Quinn just nodded, still drained from the experience. April wasn’t surprised – his hips were moving in and out like a fiddlers elbow at times. She just pushed her foot back into the leg of her jeans and shimmied them up, buttoning them and pulling her boot back on. Her leather jacket would have to do – the cleavage she’d be showing without her top would be insane, but she was lucky. He didn’t suck some insane kind of love bites into her tits after all.

 

“Thanks for the drinks,” she smiled, pressing a quick kiss against his dazed cheek. She zipped up her jacket and bundled up her wet shirt, happy to drop it in a bin on the walk back to her apartment.

 

“Will I see you some time?” She almost expected that – of course, he wouldn’t  _if_  he really was going back to Chicago in the morning. But then she wasn’t so easy as to fall for that line, anyway. 

 

She was still happy to leave them there, though, and she winked from the doorway. “Nope – you’re going home tomorrow.” She opened the door and music pumped into the utility room, drowning out anything else he said before she slipped out into the club. 

 

It was time to call it a night – she didn’t really want to still be around when he finally wiped off his leak and pulled his clothes back on. And besides. With her job and ‘other’ leads, by the time she got a chance to come back, he’d have probably given up on seeing her again and moved to the next venue.  And that suited April O’Neil, and “Alice,” just fine.


End file.
